Once in late Joseon era, on a bitterly cold night with the moon illuminating even the smallest alleyways, a woman dressed in plain white hanbok cried like the wolves as she clenched her chest—feeling her heart tear piece by piece. Her tears smudged the scribbles she had written on the paper in front of her. She continued to weep until her body felt beaten and exhausted. A moment passes until she took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the chilly air that burned; and with every ounce of strength she has left in her fragile body; she reached for a book bounded in leather. The texture felt soft within her grasp and ever so carefully, her fingers flipped through the pages as she said incantations in hushed tones.

            “Let the voices of those who perished with broken hearts and dreams be as one with mine. Hear the howling of the wind and the rustling of the trees with the spell to be casted under the pale moonlight. The bearer of the weight shall stop aging and have her memories be gone the moment she enters the confines of this book. Let every ink that stains the leaves of her new home be engraved upon her skin once she becomes mortal again. Allow my heart to give The bearer a taste of bliss through feelings so pure she can escape her punishment only for as long as the pages of the book are bare and empty—” The woman stopped mid-sentence and saw he